


being him is who you are

by VeryImportantDemon



Series: Evolve [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eliot loves Q, Eliot’s a badass, Gen, Julia is a good friend, Julia’s a badass, M/M, Margo’s a badass, Quentin missed Eliot, Quentin’s a badass, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, The Monster and the aftermath, They’re very in love and It’s Fucking Adorable, platonically and romantically, queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: There was a really loud buzzing in Eliot’s ears. Well, the Eliot that was sitting on steps next to Quentin. The older Eliot, the wiser one, the one that wasn’t a memory knew because he’d lived it. He knew what was going to happen and he could barely make himself watch because he knew how royally he was about to fuck up.





	being him is who you are

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of Reynard’s attack on Julia but they are just that, mentions, but take care reading if that may affect you. This picks up right where lay him in his lover’s arms ends! This is a three part series so expect one more in the coming weeks.

-51-

 

There was a really loud buzzing in Eliot’s ears. Well, the Eliot that was sitting on steps next to Quentin. The older Eliot, the wiser one, the one that wasn’t a memory knew because he’d lived it. He knew what was going to happen and he could barely make himself watch because he knew how royally he was about to fuck up.

 

“I know this sounds dumb,” Quentin started, almost smiling. Hopeful. “But us, we... I don’t know. Think about it. We work.” Older Eliot swallowed hard as Quentin gazed deep into the memory’s eyes, like he could see everything behind them. “We know it ‘cause we lived it,” Quentin continued. “Who gets that kind of proof of concept?”  
  


“We were just injected with a half century of emotion so I get that maybe you’re not thinking clearly,” the memory of Eliot said. All the older Eliot can think is god, he’d been an asshole. He had always assumed that nothing could go right for him. He had been too cynical. He needed a little bit of Quentin, the part that believed in fairy tales. The part that believed in real, true, good love. The Disney movie kind of love.

 

Eliot knew Quentin was shaking his head because Eliot knew every single damn detail of the memory. He’d repressed it, shoved it so far back into his mind, but he did remember it. He remembered all off it. “No I’m just saying, what if we… gave it a shot? Would that be that crazy?” Quentin asked, looking at memory Eliot with wide eyes, begging him to say yes. He was begging Eliot to believe in something for once. “Why the fuck not? I-”

 

Memory Eliot sighed softly, still not quite meeting Quentin’s eyes. God, Eliot hated that version of himself. At least they had that much in common. “I know you,” Memory Eliot said, and Eliot could feel the self-loathing rolling off of him in waves like it was his own because it was, “and you aren’t…”

 

“What’s it matter?” Quentin interrupted.

  
“Don’t be naive,” Memory Eliot said. It hurt Eliot so much because he knew what he had meant to say, knew the feelings and the doubt and the hatred that moved his mouth. “It matters. Q, come on, I love you, but…”

 

At least the dumb fuck said one true thing, Eliot thought to himself.

 

“You have to know that’s not me and that’s definitely not you, not when we have a choice,” his memory continued. Eliot had been so afraid when he said that. It wasn’t that he wanted someone else. He could never want someone else. It was the fact that he’d been hurt so many times he was afraid of being happy. He was afraid of something real.

 

The silence stretched in the stone room for so long it was heavy and deafening. “Okay,” Quentin said softly. “I… Okay. Sorry.”

 

Don’t be sorry, Eliot wanted to scream. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be sorry.

 

Quentin should never have to be sorry for believing. That he believed in magic, in Eliot, was the best part about him. Eliot would never forgive himself for letting go.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped at his younger self in the memory. “And what the fuck are you doing?”  
  


He couldn’t change what he’d done, what he’d said. Intellectually, Eliot knew that. But it felt good to yell at himself. Almost therapeutic.

 

-50-

 

This was Eliot’s worst memory. Reliving his greatest shame was like a million punches to the gut, but he needed to do this. If he didn’t do this, he wouldn’t be able to find the door and he wouldn’t be able to find Quentin. The Monster would kill him before he ever got to apologize.

 

“Someone good and true loves you,” Eliot told himself, anger and fear and sadness and love all bubbling together in his stomach. “And he went out on a limb, and yeah, it was a little crazy, but you knew.” Of course it was crazy. It was their lives. There wasn’t a way for it not to be at least a little crazy. But he and Quentin would have been the best kind of crazy. “You knew,” he repeated, his voice soft, “this was a moment that truly mattered and you just snuffed it out.” Snuffed it out like a candle. Snuffed it out when nothing had ever meant more to him.

 

-49-

 

“Q… I’m sorry,” Eliot said, swallowing hard and shaking his head slightly. He crouched down to be on Quentin’s level, finally saying what he’d been wanting to say since that fateful day. It didn’t count, not really, since this was all in his own head, but it felt good to finally say it. Eliot cupped Quentin’s cheek in one hand. “I was afraid,” he said, “and when I’m afraid, I run away.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Quentin’s.

 

He knew it was a memory, but it felt real. It felt so, so real. It was passion and lust and everything he had bottled up for years, but mostly it was love. Eliot poured every ounce and every drop of that love into the kiss because even if it was fake, it gave him hope. It made him hope that he’d get out of his own head and regain control of his own body, that he could apologize in the real world. That he could kiss Quentin in the real world.   
  


He pulled back, exhaling softly and gazing at Quentin like he was the most beautiful creature in the world. To Eliot, he was. “If I ever get out of here, Q,” he said quietly, their faces so close together that he can feel Memory Quentin’s breath, “know that when I’m braver it’s because I learned it from you.”

 

-48-

 

“Quentin,” the Monster sneered, and Quentin can’t stand to see it wearing Eliot’s face.

 

-47-

 

Eliot hoped there would be a door when he turned from Memory Quentin. He really, really hoped there would be and, thank the gods, there was. He let out a puff of air, rising from the steps and starting towards it. The door looked out of place in the castle but it didn’t to Eliot. He knew that door like the back of his hand. It had let him and Quentin and Arielle and Ted into their home for 50 years. It was the door to his heart.

 

“I’ll be back for you,” Eliot told Memory Quentin as almost an afterthought before he started towards the door. He put his hand on the handle and he could feel a comfortable weight settle in his chest.

 

He opened the door and stepped through.

 

-46-

 

For a moment, Eliot was disoriented. He wasn’t in Fillory. He was in some obscenely green park. The colors were so bright they were almost blinding. But everything narrowed in instantly on the figure in front of him.

 

Quentin. Of course it was Quentin because who else could it be?

 

“Q!” he cried. “Oh, Q. Q. It’s me. It’s Eliot.” He had never been more grateful to see anyone in his entire life. He took a step forward but as he did, Quentin took a step back.

 

“Okay, no games,” Quentin said, his frown deepening. “Come on. Let’s just go.”

 

Eliot didn’t know what Quentin’s plan was and frankly, he didn’t care. He just needed to get through to him and quickly. “It’s Eliot,” he insisted, but Quentin shook his head again.

 

“No, bullshit,” he snapped. “Come on.”

 

Quentin didn’t believe him. Eliot wouldn’t have believed it if he’d been in Quentin’s shoes. But there was something, something that no one else knew about. Something not even Margo knew about. Something the Monster couldn’t know that Quentin would. Something that would make Quentin understand that Eliot was still alive.

 

“Fifty years,” he blurted out. Fifty years, the best fifty years of his lifetimes. All forty-one of them. “Who gets proof of concept like that?”

 

Quentin’s eyes widened and Eliot smiled a little. A relieved smile. A ‘holy-shit-it’s-working’ smile. “What?” he said. He took another step back but Eliot didn’t give a shit about that. He was getting somewhere.

 

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” he said to seal the deal, touching Quentin’s arm. Touching a real person felt so fucking good after being locked in his own head for so long. He had always been the kind of person who used touch to show his affection and he had never been shy about it when it came to Quentin. “I’m alive in here,” he said.

 

“Eliot,” Quentin whispered and Eliot had never heard anything more perfect. Maybe there was hope for him yet. He blinked and when he opened his eyes

 

-45-

 

he was sitting on the Physical Cottage’s sofa, smashed under two bodies. Quentin’s head was on Eliot’s lap and Margo’s was on Eliot’s shoulder. “I don’t think I know what I’m watching, baby,” she said.

 

“It’s Patrick Swayze, Bambi,” he told her, turning his head slightly to kiss her on the top of the head, the fingers of one hand running through Quentin’s hair. Dirty Dancing played on the TV in front of them. “Quentin gets it. Q’s queer. Don’t you, Q?” He reached down to ruffle Quentin’s hair, but there was no movement. The younger man was fast asleep, a fact that only made Eliot smile again.

 

“I’m queer, bitch,” Margo said affectionately. “And I don’t think he’s paying attention.”

 

“Probably not,” Eliot admitted. He couldn’t really bring himself to care. Quentin at least tried to watch one of Eliot’s all time favorite movies with him. It was nice, being here with his two favorite people on the world. He just got the feeling that they’d done this before.

 

“Deja vu,” he said softly.

 

Margo yawned, sitting up and stretching a little. “What are you talking about, babe?” she asked.

 

Eliot shrugged. “I just… I feel like I’ve been here before. What day is it?”

 

Margo hummed. “I don’t know. Cast Haynes’.”

 

Haynes’ was one of Eliot’s favorite spells. It wasn’t too difficult and it told the caster what the date was wherever they happened to be. Eliot disentangled his hand from Quentin’s hair. He interlocked his pinkies, his fingers curled in. He uncurled the fingers of both hands starting with the finger closest to his pinky and going all the way downtown his thumbs before reversing the movement and unlocking his pinkies, all the while murmuring in Japanese. Haynes’ gave him nothing but white noise and he frowned. Made sense, though. This was a memory. Or part of a memory, in any case. He’d been shoved back into his Happy Place.

 

At least it was happy. At least he’d done what he set out to do. Quentin knew he was alive. Quentin would get him out of here. And in the meantime, why not enjoy himself?

 

“I’m thirsty, El,” Margo said, squeezing Eliot’s hand before standing up. “I’m gonna go make drinks. Brb.” Eliot liked that Margo was the kind of person who would say ‘brb’ instead of ‘be right back.’ It gave her charm.

 

“Thanks, babe,” Eliot said and she left the sofa for the bar behind them. He could definitely use a drink. It had been a very long day.

 

On his lap, Quentin stirred, lifting his head and blinking sleepily. “Oh, shit,” he said. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

 

Eliot laughed, bringing Quentin to his shoulder and kissing his forehead. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll watch it again sometime. And I got to talk to you.”

 

Quentin frowned at him. “Talk to me?” he repeated. “What do you mean talk to me?”

 

“The real you,” he said. “The you not in my head.”

 

“Aha,” Quentin said, nodding like he understood. He should, Eliot figured, because he wasn’t really Quentin. He was a memory of Quentin that was acting like Eliot knew he would.

 

On the screen in front of the, music started to play. “Now, I’ve had the time of my life,” the movie sang. Eliot smiled faintly, remembering very well what happened next.

 

“Wanna dance?” he asked, offering Quentin his hand.

 

Quentin laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t dance,” he said sincerely. “Let alone to this.”

 

“Come on, Q,” Eliot teased, standing up. “Dance with me.”

 

Quentin glanced apprehensively at the movie playing behind him, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that,” he said. That was a very theatrical lift. “I can’t lift you.”

 

Eliot laughed, spinning Quentin around as they slowly started to dance to the music. “What makes you think you’d be Swayze? I’m clearly the true fan here. If anyone would be Swayze, it would be me.” He paused, not quite thinking because he remembered what he said the first time. “But I couldn’t lift you anyway. I’ve been smoking since I was 14 and my lungs suck shit.”

 

Quentin laughed again, shaking his head. “I still don’t know how to dance.”

 

“I can show you,” Eliot said. “Stand on my feet and I’ll lead you.”

 

Quentin did as he was instructed, carefully standing on the tops of Eliot’s feet. “I’m not gonna break, Q,” he said with a laugh. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

 

As soon as Quentin was in position, they started swaying to the music. “See, this isn’t hard,” Eliot said, smiling.

 

“This isn’t dancing, this is swaying,” Quentin said, shaking his head, but he was still smiling, a sparkle in his eyes.

 

“Are you saying I’m not a good dancer?” Eliot asked, pretending to look offended. “I’m hurt, Q. You’ve hurt me.”

 

“You can handle it, Waugh,” Quentin teased.

 

“Kiss my ass, Coldwater,” Eliot retorted as they swayed together.

 

Margo chose that moment to reappear, just as she had done when it had actually happened back at Brakebills. “You look like you’re at the prom,” she said.

 

When Eliot turned, Quentin stepped off of his toes, smiling a little. “But it wouldn’t be prom without alcohol,” Eliot said in a sing-song voice, sweeping towards Margo. He took two of the three drinks she had made, giving one to Quentin before dropping back down onto the sofa. He sipped at his drink while Quentin sat on his right and Margo at his left. “This is already way more fun than my prom night,” Eliot hummed. “I drank four bottle of Schnapps, smoked a ton of weed, and fucked the prom queen’s boyfriend, all on the school campus.”

 

Margo laughed again, shaking her head. “I was the prom queen,” she said. “Finally beat that bitch Summer. She was awful to me so I took the one thing she cared about.”

 

“Cold,” Eliot said with a grin, squeezing Margo’s hand.

 

“She deserves it,” Margo said. She squeezed Eliot’s hand back, taking a sip of her drink. “What about you, Q?” she asked.

 

Quentin shrugged. “I didn’t go to prom,” he said.

 

Eliot gasped, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “You didn’t go to prom? Quentin!”

 

Quentin laughed slightly. “Nope,” he said. “Jules went with James. They tried to get me to go but I didn’t want to go alone.” He smiled wryly again.

 

“That’s a travesty,” Eliot said sincerely.

 

“A true tragedy,” Margo agreed.

 

Quentin lifted his drink up to his lips, taking a long drink. “But even if I had,” he said, “it probably would’ve been miserable. This is a lot better.”

 

Eliot couldn’t help but smile, squeezing Quentin’s hand. “I love you both very much,” he said fondly. He drained his drink. “I’m gonna go make more,” he said. “And probably get food. I’m famished.” He stood up, starting towards

 

-44-

 

a door. It was out of place for this dingy old warehouse where teenaged Eliot spent a lot of his time. It was very dimly lit, grime on the walls. There were a handful of used needles piled in a corner and traces of white dust on the table in front of him. He blinked slowly again, not sure if he was seeing the door clearly or if he was still high. The door matched Eliot’s attire - waistcoat, tie, slacks - more than it matched the warehouse. He was in the midst of his greatest creative project ever and this warehouse, his workshop, didn’t quite match him. But this door did. He needed to go to it.

 

Eliot remembered that day well. It was why it was one of his happiest memories. Reliving it, he was slightly more clear-headed than he had been at the time when he was fresh off of another high. But he still acted in exactly the same way, stepping towards the strange, ornate wooden door where there had been only an empty door frame when he passed out and wondering if he was still high.

 

The gold doorknob was cool in his hand as he turned it. Beyond the door was thick, lush green grass and a massive, ornate building beyond. In awe, he stepped through the door. It clicked closed behind him and disappeared but he didn’t care. He was still in awe of the towering building in front of him. The towering building and the woman standing in front of it with her back to him.

 

As he drew closer, Eliot realized he was a good deal taller than the woman. Her dark hair was straight down her back and she had a perfectly coordinated outfit, a bag hung over one arm. She looked about his age and was studying a piece of paper held tight in her right hand. Peering over her shoulder, he spoke. “Where the fuck are we?” he asked, foreknowledge making him smile. Margo was so young. They both were.

 

She flinched, swearing. “Jesus Christ! Don’t sneak up on a girl like that!”

 

Eliot shrugged. “My bad,” he apologized half-heartedly, still peering at the letter. “So? Where are we?”

 

“Brakebills, dumbass,” young Margo said. “Can’t you read?”

 

Eliot looked up, noticing that on the wall in front of them were large, dark letters reading Brakebills University. “Huh,” he said. “What’s on the paper?”

 

Margo crumpled it up, shoving it in her bag. “There’s some sort of test we need to get to in there.” She pointed at the large front doors of the building.

 

“Huh,” he said. “Even high I don’t think I could’ve come up with this.” He paused, looking beside him at Margo. “Or you.”

 

She laughed at him, shaking her head and offering him her hand. “Margo Hansen,” she said.

 

Eliot took it, bowing low and kissing the back of her hand. “Eliot Waugh, at your service,” he said.

 

Margo smiled back at him, linking their arms together. “Eliot Waugh, let’s go see what the fuck this is about.”

 

“My pleasure,” Eliot said, walking with her up the massive stone steps. He pushed the doors open, holding them open for her. She stepped through and the large wooden doors closed behind them. Eliot blinked, striding forward through the cavernous entryway of the building until

 

-43-

 

he wasn’t walking at all. He was sitting at a table off to the side of the Mosaic. He blinked suddenly. Another memory. Eliot pulled at a curl of his hair, finding it not as dark as it was. He was back at the Mosaic, in Fillory, and clearly they had already been here for awhile. “Quentin?” he called. There was no answer except for a shuffle of movement in the trees and a twig snapping. He rose from his chair, setting aside the pastels and paper. Looking down at the design, Eliot immediately knew what memory he was in. Quentin was down at the stream, checking their traps for fish, and there were people in the trees.

 

“Pops?” Eliot heard a masculine voice calling. “Dad?”

 

Eliot’s face split into a grin. Ted Eliot Coldwater stepped out of the trees and into the little clearing, a very young, dark-haired girl on his hip. “Ted!” he called, sweeping forward. The young man grinned at the sound of Eliot’s voice.

 

Eliot pulled his son close, holding him and the little girl close to his chest. He knew this was just a memory, but it had been so long since he’d held his son.

 

“Where’s Dad?” Ted asked, shifting the little girl who was chewing on her thumb on his hip again.

 

“Checking our nets down in the stream,” he said, turning to the little girl. “And who’s this?” he asked, beaming even though he knew exactly who she was.

 

“Arielle,” Ted said. He addressed the little girl next, her wide eyes already fixed on Eliot. “Ari, this is your grandpa El.”

 

Arielle, who looked so much like her grandmother, blinked up at Eliot. “El,” she said, making grabby hands for him. “El.”

 

Eliot beamed again, carefully taking the girl from her father. “That’s right,” he said softly. “I’m Grandpa El.” He remembered in a memory the pride he’d felt the first time Ted had called out to him in the same tone.

 

A darkness fell over the happy recollection. Eliot felt pins and needles in his hands and thunder boomed and then his hands were empty. Little Arielle was gone and Ted was gone and Eliot was standing alone in the center of the Mosaic. The air was so still that even magic was gone. He was alone, defenseless, powerless. Nothing.

 

“Bambi?” he said instinctively, reaching blindly for someone, anyone, to help him. “Q?” He spun around as the thunder melted into dark laughter. Eliot looked up, desperately searching for the source, but he knew in his heart where it was coming from. It was in him.

 

The voice in the sky, all around him, kept laughing, and Eliot looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood, dripping with blood. There was blood everywhere. It was all over his chest and there were smears of it on his face and the scent was so thick he wanted to throw up.

 

There was blood on his hands, blood on the hands that had cradled his granddaughter. He wasn’t in Fillory. He was out on Earth, killing.

 

-42-

 

Julia knew Quentin was different. She knew he wasn’t the same kid he’d grown up with. She’d known that for years, but she realized it for sure now.

 

“Eliot, Eliot, Eliot,” the Monster said with a sigh. “Why do you care about him so much?”

 

He was wearing a face that wasn’t his but Julia couldn’t find herself caring as much as Quentin did. She only vaguely knew the real Eliot Waugh as one of the magicians who was part of their ragtag team attempting to take down the Beast. But Quentin… Something had happened between him and Quentin and Quentin really, really cared.

 

“Because I do,” Quentin said, something dark in his eyes. “You kill him and we are done. “I swear to God, I am serious. I will abandon you and I will die trying to burn you to the ground.”

 

Julia was glad Quentin was on her side because there was a fire in him now that almost scared her. She remembered the Quentin of their youth, listless and aimless. But he was burning now. He wasn’t infatuated with her anymore because that was what his crush on her had been. He was in love. He was in love with this Eliot Waugh. She made a mental note to talk to Eliot if - no, when, because Quentin with that look in his eye would do whatever he set his mind to - they freed him. She loved Quentin. It wasn’t romantic, but that didn’t make her love less. She needed to make sure this Eliot loved Quentin as much as Quentin loved him. She didn’t want him getting hurt again.

 

-41-

 

Pain shouldn’t have been a happy memory, but it was. Eliot knew exactly when and where he was as soon as he opened his eyes. They were at the knifemaker’s home, standing in a semi-circle in front of the knifemaker himself holding the Leo Blade. He watched as the knife passed over Quentin and Penny in turn. Then it was his turn. A part of him knew that it had to be him. They were the next wave of people from Earth, like Quentin had said. And if it wasn’t Quentin or Penny, it had to be him.

 

But it couldn’t, could it? He still remembered exactly what he had been feeling in that moment. No one had ever wanted him. How could Fillory want him? But the knife cut his palm and Eliot hissed even though he knew what was coming. He gazed down at the slice in his palm with awe. He was the High King. Fillory wanted him. “Makes certain instinctual sense, I guess,” he said, using humor to mask his true feelings. He couldn’t change that, even now.

 

He was, however, a little surprised when his clip reel of happy memories continued to his conversation with Margo post his engagement. It skipped over part of the conversation he remembered well, the part where she told him he’d never be able to leave Fillory and he’d never be able to be with anyone else. Where it picked up was when a feeling of contentment sunk deep into his chest. A feeling of belonging, of being needed.

 

“El, you don’t have to do this,” Margo tried to tell him. She had his best interests at heart, he knew. She always did. She was his best friend, his soulmate. But he knew what he needed, too.

 

“No, don’t,” he said. “I’m doing this.”

 

“Eliot-”

 

“Margo,” Eliot said, his voice softening. His heart tightened in his chest. “I am… Miserable. My life, it doesn’t work. Nothing’s ever fixed that. Drugs, sex, food, booze.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself to keep talking. This was as honest as he had been since he had been Margo’s secrets partner in The Trials. “Not even magic. But maybe… Maybe it all led to this, to now...” He remembered hoping so desperately in that moment that he was right and not just grasping at straws. “For a reason that’s actually finally going to make my life worth not just about me, and my thoughts, and my feelings. Something…” He trailed off even though he knew exactly what he was going to say. He remembered, but the name of this game wasn’t jumping ahead. It was reliving happy times and realizing that his useless, pitiful life had purpose was one of those times.

 

“Bigger,” Margo said softly.

 

“How wise you are, Queen Margo the Destroyer,” Eliot said with an almost sad smile, bowing low. Of course she would be a queen, he had thought, because there was no way he would do this without her.

 

“Is it okay if I hate that you’re getting married?” Margo asked. Eliot smiled. Even now, knowing everything he knew, he loved that she supported him even though she detested the circumstances. “Shit,” she added. “I think you’re the only person I can stand.”

 

Eliot smiled again. Margo could always make him feel better. He wasn’t surprised at all that she featured so prominently in a lot of his happy memories. He reached out to take her hand

 

-40-

 

but instead took Quentin’s. He was a little startled at the abrupt change in scenery but he had been through enough of these that he took it in stride. Another go around. Another happy memory.

 

He was in Fillory, standing across from Quentin on the ceramic tiles of the Mosaic that were fashioned into another attempt at the beauty of all life. Ted was standing in front of them, bouncing on his toes and smiling. He was still so young, maybe 10 years old.

 

“I, Quentin,” Quentin said, squeezing Eliot’s hands and gazing into his eyes, “take you, Eliot, to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” He paused for a beat. “I think that’s it.”

 

“Close enough, babe,” Eliot said, reaching forward a brushing a curl of Quentin’s hair from his face as he recited the dialogue from his memories. “No one here but us.”

 

“Your turn,” Quentin teased.

 

Eliot smiled, squeezing Quentin’s hands again. “I, Eliot, take you, Quentin, to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” He paused for a beat, grinning at Quentin. “You may kiss the bride,” he said.

 

Quentin leaned forward, his arms around Eliot’s neck, and pulled him into a deep kiss. Ted, still standing in front of them, tossed a handful of flower petals onto them as Quentin dipped Eliot. Quentin’s breath was warm on his neck and even though it wasn’t official to anyone except them, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because he was happy.

 

As happy as he was, there was a touch of longing for something else. This wasn’t real. Well, it was real. It had happened. But reliving his memories wasn’t.

 

He pulled back from the kiss, sighing softly. Memory Quentin frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

 

Eliot shook his head slightly. “I want to talk to you,” he said.

 

“You are talking to me, El,” Quentin said.

 

“I’m not,” he said. “Not really. This isn’t the real you. This is my memory of you. You’re in my head. I want to talk to you. The real you.”

 

Quentin hesitated but before he could speak or make up his mind not to, Ted spoke.

 

“I may be able to arrange that,” he said, but his voice wasn’t his own. It was too big for him, too old.

 

-30-

 

“I need to talk to him,” Quentin said. They were holed up in Julia’s apartment, the Monster sitting at her kitchen table with his feet propped up, boredly eating an apple. He looked up at Quentin, sighing, his dark eyes Eliot’s yet not quite.

 

“I suppose so,” he said with a deep sigh. “He’s been bothering me.”

 

Quentin let out a puff of air. He didn’t think it was going to be that easy. “But,” the Monster said, and Quentin almost sighed again. There was always a catch.

 

“You get 60 seconds,” the Monster said.

 

-29-

 

“He’s been bothering me about talking to you.” A few flower petals fell to the ground, fluttering out of Ted’s loose fist as he spoke.

 

Eliot turned towards their child, not quite able to look him in the eyes. “Do you have to use him?” he said.

 

Ted huffed slightly. “Do you want to talk to him or not?” he said.

 

“I do,” Eliot said. “Just… Just let me talk to him.” The last chance he’d gotten had been in the park and he’d barely hung on long enough to tell Quentin he was alive in his own body.

 

“60 seconds,” the Monster said in Ted’s voice. “Take the door.” Ted pointed at the cottage. Nothing looked different but Eliot knew the drill about the doors at this point.

 

Eliot took a deep breath and stepped forward. He didn’t get far before there was a hand on his arm. He turned to see Quentin smiling softly at him. “I love you,” he said.

 

“I know,” Eliot said. “You kind of have to. You’re in my head.” He started towards the door again, pushing it open and stepping through with his eyes closed.

 

-28-

 

When his eyes opened again, he wasn’t in Fillory. He was in someone’s kitchen he didn’t remember getting to, eating an apple he didn’t remember picking up, and his feet on a counter he didn’t remember propping them up on. He dropped the apple, his fingers sticky with the juice, and looked up. “Quentin,” he said.

 

Quentin looked years older than when they’d last seen each other, his eyes heavy with dark shadows under them, but when he locked eyes with Eliot, he looked as young as he did the day they met on Brakebills’ lawn. “Eliot,” he said. “Eliot, oh my god.”

 

He immediately started towards Eliot did his best to do the same. He rose from his chair but as soon as he was vertical, he wasn’t. His vision swam and went dark and he collapsed.

 

“El, fuck,” he heard Quentin saying. Eliot could feel every ache and pain, the aftereffects of every pill and every drug and every drink the Monster took in his body. He’d overdosed before so he knew the feeling and it was what he was feeling then.

 

“I’m okay,” he said, hearing his own voice as if through a long tunnel. “I’m okay. Q. Q.”

 

Quentin took Eliot in his arms as his vision cleared. “Eliot,” He said. “We’re running out of time. It’s good to see you. It’s so good to see you.”

 

“You, too,” Eliot said, blinking slowly as he focused in on Quentin’s face. “But you’ve been looking at my pretty face the whole time.” He could practically hear the timer in his head clicking down with every second. “Are you close?”

 

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “Me and Jules are getting closer. He wants a body, El. His own. We’re building him one.”

 

A door flung open behind them and a female voice called, “Quentin? Quentin, what’s wrong?” but Eliot ignored it. He had precious seconds left.

 

“I’m okay in here,” he said softly, “but I’ve never wanted to come out this bad. Not even when I came out of the closet.”

 

Quentin laughed, a watery one but a laugh all the same. “I know, I know,” he said. “I’ll get you out. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you out.”

 

Eliot reached up, cupping Quentin’s cheek with his hand. “Take care of yourself, Q,” he said softly.

 

“I’m trying to take care of you,” Quentin said, leaning slightly into the touch and looking like he might cry.

 

“Hey,” Eliot said abruptly. They had so little time left. Seconds were ticking by. “Quentin, I-”

 

-27-

 

“-don’t understand this game,” Fen said, her eyebrows scrunched up in concentration. She was sitting with her legs crossed underneath her beside Eliot and there was a deck of cards spread in strategic piles in front of them. On autopilot, Eliot spoke.

 

“It’s solitaire, babe,” he said. “It makes very little sense.”

 

He loved Fen, too, even if he didn’t love her romantically. She was one of his closest friends and confidants. He remembered well teaching Fen to play a trivial Earth card game fondly. He’d been happy then, happy because things were simpler than they’d been in a long time. He was happy then and he felt a spark of happiness in his chest now but it was manufactured happiness. No matter how pretty things were, it was still a prison.

 

-26-

 

Glass shattering jolted Julia up from the book she was reading. “Quentin?” she said instinctively. “Q, are you okay?” She rounded the corner into her bathroom, seeing Quentin with a white-knuckled grip on the bathroom counter with his left hand and his right covered in blood. Her bathroom mirror was shattered. “Quentin,” she said softly.

 

He looked up, a hollowness in his eyes. “I was so fucking close,” he said. “I was so fucking close, Jules. He was right there. I was holding him and now he’s gone again.”

 

Julia didn’t speak, simply entered the bathroom, rummaging in her cabinets. She straightened up with a brown plastic bottle in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. “Let me see,” she said. Quentin reluctantly loosened his fist. The blood was mostly on his knuckles where he’d punched the mirror. She didn’t see any shards so without warning, she poured the hydrogen peroxide over Quentin’s hand.

 

He hissed in pain but she didn’t apologize, setting about bandaging his hand instead. “Go ahead,” Quentin said, watching her hands move instead of looking into her eyes. “Tell me it was stupid and I’m a dumbass.”

 

“I would, but it’s not true,” Julia said. She made sure the bandage was fastened securely before she turned, leaning against the sink. Quentin shifted, his posture mimicking hers. “After Reynard,” she said, “you never told me I was being irrational when I lashed out.” She paused, letting the silence stretch for a few beats until she finally spoke again. “It would be hypocritical for me to do it to you. I was hurting then and you’re hurting now. I don’t know Eliot very well but I know it must be hard having someone you love’s body being paraded around by a… A monster. Having him so close but so far away.” She didn’t mention watching the Monster start destroying Eliot’s body while they watched. “You deserve to lash out. This is fucked up. This is so fucked up, Q. You deserve better than this. Besides, it’s just a mirror. I’m just glad you did get hurt worse.”

 

Quentin was silent for a long time and Julia followed his lead. Quentin took a deep breath, leaning his head against her shoulder. She could hear him crying softly but she didn’t discourage him from it. Instead she just held him and let him cry and helped him clean up the glass when he was done.

 

-25-

 

The memories were happy but they couldn’t keep Eliot happy because he knew they were repeats of his greatest episodes. They were fabrications to appease him. But he knew Quentin was out there, knew Quentin was trying to save him, and they didn’t hold the same appeal.

 

The worst part by far was when the memories faded away and Eliot saw outside. It happened sometimes and Eliot saw Quentin and Julia, saw his hands soaked in blood, saw the Monster’s new body start to take shape. It was such a weird feeling, seeing his hands working and his body moving but not controlling them. The whole thing was weird and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Mike had felt.

 

He was almost glad when these spells ended and he was thrust back into his memories but that didn’t last too long.

 

God, he wanted out. He just wanted out.

 

-24-

 

Quentin almost smiled. Here he was, and here Julia was, and here the Monster was right in front of him, and here was the body that would free Eliot’s.

 

“Do you have the incantation?” the Monster asked. Quentin was going to answer but Julia beat him to the punch.

 

“We got it,” she said, a little irritably. For her, the light at the end of this tunnel was that it was ending. They were done with the Monster. The light at the end of Quentin’s tunnel was that he was getting Eliot back. “Q’s Arabic was perfect.”

 

Quentin cracked his knuckles, ready for the spell. He didn’t think he’d ever been this ready for anything. He was getting Eliot back. “Thank you, Jules,” he said honestly.

 

“I know,” Julia said, focusing already on the spellcasting instead of on Quentin. They had a job to do and he knew she was going to do it.

 

“If anything happens to him-” Quentin started, but the Monster didn’t let him get too far.

 

“You’ll kill me, I know,” he said. “Let’s just get this thing over with.”

 

Quentin popped his knuckles and started chanting in Arabic. He linked his thumbs, brought his fingers in to form two awkward fists, then turned his hands so his palms were facing the Monster’s new, empty body and released his fingers. Julia did the same, their movements mirrors of each other. The Monster closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Quentin took solace in the fact that when they opened again, it was going to be Eliot behind them.

 

-23-

 

There was a sharp sting and Eliot felt what seemed like the weight of the world on his chest. He couldn’t breathe for how hard it was pressing him down. It felt exactly like getting possessed the first time had, like there were too many people in too small of a space. He’d gotten used to the sensation and pushed it aside but now he was sure he was going to suffocate. He couldn’t draw in a single breath and his nose was wet with blood.

 

Maybe he was finally dying.

 

Eliot closed his eyes, letting the darkness envelop him as the weight crushed him. He was content with this. Sure, he wanted to apologize to Quentin properly before he died, but he was okay with. “I’m okay,” he said softly, even though he didn’t know who was listening. “It’s okay.” Probably no one. He was dying, after all.

 

-22-

 

The Monster was gone. Julia and Quentin’s spellcasting had readied the body for the Monster to jump into and he had. In the blink of an eye, he had slipped out of Eliot, into the Frankenstein they had created, and disappeared. Quentin didn’t care, however. He couldn’t care because Eliot - and it was Eliot, it was really Eliot, he was back, he was back, oh God, he was back  - had gone white as a sheet and collapsed as blood poured from his nose and Quentin would swear he’d heard Eliot whisper, “I’m okay. It’s okay.”

 

Quentin immediately dropped his hands, rushing forward and pulling Eliot into his lap.  “Eliot,” he said desperately. He wasn’t going to lose him now. He couldn’t. “Eliot, please. Come on. Wake up. Eliot. Eliot!”

 

-21-

 

The pressure released him and Eliot frowned. Maybe he wasn’t dead. But he was tired and it was so, so dark that he thought he might just take a nap.

 

-20-

 

Julia knelt down beside Quentin, her hands hovering over Eliot’s chest as she muttered in Japanese, Arabic, Ancient Greek. She wasn’t going to let him die, not after all they had done to save him. She could hear Quentin talking beside her, begging and pleading for Eliot to wake up, tears choking his words. “Eliot, please… El, come on… El, don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You can’t leave me…”

 

She didn’t know how long it took, but the blood had finally slowed to a trickle and then eventually stopped, all but dried. Eliot’s breathing was better now, shallow, and she felt certain that he wasn’t about to die of blood loss. He was alive. But other than that, she wasn’t so sure.

 

“Jules,” Quentin said softly, like a prayer, like a question. “Is…”

 

“He’s alive,” she said. “He’ll live.” But that was all she said because that was all she knew.

 

Quentin let out a choked noise, pulling Eliot close to his chest. He sat there, rocking ever so slightly back and forth and holding Eliot with Julia kneeling silently nearby. She felt like an outsider yet again but she didn’t mind as much this time. She waited silently with Quentin until he finally spoke.

 

“I need the rabbit in my room,” he said softly, and she went to get it.

 

-19-

 

Eliot’s alive. Come ASAP. Eliot’s alive. Come ASAP. Eliot’s alive. Come ASAP.

 

The stupid rabbit’s stupid voice wouldn’t stop repeating itself in Margo’s head like a broken record. Eliot’s alive. Come ASAP.

 

Eliot was alive. Her best friend was alive. Her soulmate was alive. Margo couldn’t help but sob as the most beautiful song she’d ever heard looped continuously in her brain.

 

Eliot’s alive. Come ASAP.

 

-18-

 

Everything was dark but Eliot felt warm. It didn’t feel like he imagined death would. There was a lot less fire and brimstone and screaming of the damned, which was one option, and he felt too much for it to be the nothingness that death could also be. Whatever he was and wherever he was, he wasn’t possessed. He could feel that much.

 

Eliot opened his eyes with a soft intake of breath. Above was a clean expanse of white but it wasn’t everything. There was blue, too, at the corners of his vision. He blinked slowly, focusing again on a new area of his surroundings. Walls. He was in a room. And there was a mattress beneath him, a blanket draped over top of him. He blinked again and before he could open his eyes there was a body crushed against him and he tensed up. “Eliot, holy shit,” the body said. “El, holy shit. You’re here. You’re alive.”

 

Eliot relaxed instantly. It was just Quentin. Quentin, who had promised to save him. Quentin, the good. Quentin, the brave. Quentin, who Eliot was in love with. “Q,” Eliot said, his voice hoarse and his throat scratchy. He reached up to squeeze Quentin back, burying his face in Q’s shoulder. He was safe. He was safe.

 

He was safe.

 

“Quentin,” he said again, his voice cracking as he started to cry. “Quentin, Quentin…” Eliot wasn’t the type to cry but he had bottled up so much for so long and now he was free. He was free and safe and this definitely wasn’t a memory because he was sobbing hysterically into the man he loved’s shoulder. It was undignified and perfect.

 

He cried until he had nothing left to give and even then he didn’t let go. He had just woken up but he was exhausted again. “It’s okay,” Quentin said, pulling away gently. Eliot’s hands fell but he grabbed onto the end of Quentin’s sleeve, finally getting to look into his eyes. They were the same as they’d always been but shining with unshed tears and crinkled slightly in the corners with a smile. “It’s okay, El. You can go back to sleep. I’ll… I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

-17-

 

When Eliot woke up again, he was alone. Immediately, he sat upright as his chest tightened and his mind shot off into the darkness. Quentin was gone. Quentin was gone and it had all been some fucked-up attempt of the Monster’s to keep Eliot prisoner. He’d imagined it all and he was alone again and fuck, fuck, fuck. Air caught in his throat and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and he felt like there was plastic wrap over his mouth and nose. Try as he might he couldn’t get anything. He was alone again, alone with the Monster. How cruel could he be, making Eliot think he was free and ripping it away?

 

He broke off into a sob, burying his fingers in his long, dark curls and pulling on them. He’d done that when he was much, much younger and he’d gotten frustrated or upset. He pulled his knees up to his chest, the blanket draped over him bunching up. He felt like the same little kid he’d been pulling on his hair back in Indiana. He’d gotten nowhere and he was alone and he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t-

 

There was a noise at the door and a figure appeared. It was a woman with dark, wavy hair and tired eyes. It was Julia Wicker, which Eliot would’ve known if he’d made himself look up. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. Eliot knew because he felt her weight dip the mattress and her hand on his back. “Hey,” She said. “Hey, Eliot, it’s okay. It’s Julia. Quentin’s in the other room. It’s okay. It worked.”

 

Eliot sucked in a breath, his hands tightening in his hair as Julia spoke. He was real, this was real, they got him out. They got him out. He was free but he still couldn’t get himself to speak.

 

“I’ll go get Q,” she said and the mattress shifted again and Julia was gone.

 

Eliot didn’t have long to stew because in moments he wasn’t alone. Quentin sat beside him, immediately taking Eliot in his arms. The older man was shaking like a leaf, his hands still buried in his hair and pulling, but he melted into Quentin’s arms instantly.

 

“Hey, Eliot,” Quentin said softly, holding him tight as Eliot cried against his chest. “El. El, listen. He’s gone. He’s gone and you’re free and I’m here. I’m real, you’re real, this is real. He’s gone. He’s gone, El.”

 

Eliot let out another sob, his breath hitching in his throat. His tears were wet against Quentin’s chest as he scrambled for purchase on his back. He gripped the back of Quentin’s shirt, balling it up in his hands. He’d just finished crying in Quentin’s arms the last time he’d been conscious and here he was again. However, he couldn’t seem to make himself care how much of an idiot he was making out of himself. He was too relieved that he was alive and here and really real.

 

“It’s getting dark,” Quentin said after a few minutes of holding Eliot. “You need to get some sleep.”

 

Eliot shook his head again. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t see…” He heaved a sigh, abandoning that train of thought. “Will you stay?” he asked, not looking up.

 

“Course,” Quentin said. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

It felt natural, sleeping with Quentin. Almost like he’d been doing it for fifty years.

 

-16-

 

“Here, you need to eat something,” Quentin said, entering the bedroom Eliot hadn’t left since Quentin and Julia had first brought him back. He hadn’t eaten a thing in that time, either. The Monster seldom had, too, and as a result, Eliot’s health was deteriorating. He was far thinner than he should be and he’d thrown up the first time Quentin tried to get him to eat something.

 

“I can’t,” Eliot said, shifting in the bed to sit up.

 

“Yes, you can,” Quentin said. He crossed the room towards Eliot again, handing him a bowl. Eliot sighed softly and took it, shaking his head and peering inside. “It’s just soup,” Quentin said. He pressed the spoon into Eliot’s hand before he stepped back. “If you need anything, I’m in the other room.”

 

Eliot dipped the spoon into the bowl but didn’t bring it to his mouth yet. Instead, he spoke when Quentin was in the doorway. “Margo,” he said.

 

Quentin paused, turning back towards him, and smiled faintly. “I sent her a rabbit,” Quentin said. “She should be here soon.”

 

Eliot let out a puff of air, bringing his spoon to his lips and swallowing. It was nothing fancy but it warmed his chest.

 

-15-

 

He was a few spoonfuls in when he noticed Julia lingering in the doorway. She hadn’t spoken, just watched him as she leaned against the doorframe. “Enjoying the view?” he asked.

 

She shrugged, just watching again. “Thanks for letting me crash in your place,” he added after swallowing another spoonful of soup.

 

Again, Julia shrugged. “Sure,” she said before turning and disappearing back into the apartment. Eliot frowned, not quite sure what to make of the Hedge Witch.

 

-14-

 

The water was warm as it pounded against his back, creating a pleasant steam in the shower, but all Eliot could see was the blood on his hands. He scrubbed at them, scrubbed until his skin was raw. “Out, damned spot,” he said. “Out, I say.”

 

But it wasn’t coming out and the water was running red. He hated his body and he hated what he’d become but there was nothing he could do. The damned spot wasn’t coming out.

 

-13-

 

“Quentin,” Julia said suddenly. She straightened up from where she sat on the sofa opposite Quentin, who was dozing. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since Eliot had been possessed and she was glad he was getting at least a little sleep. It just wasn’t going to last. “There’s someone approaching the wards. I can feel them.”

 

Quentin frowned slightly, rising to his feet and standing in a protective stance in front of the doorway that led to Eliot. “Can you tell who it is?” he asked. She knew what he was thinking. Was it the Monster?

 

“No,” she said. “But it’s a magician. Strong. But her magic feels…” Julia frowned again, crossing towards the door. “Different.” She reached for the doorknob but before she touched it, the door flew open on its own accord.

 

Framed in the doorway in all her queenly glory was Margo. There was a beat of pause before, “Fuck,” she said. “I forgot my line. Where is he?”

 

Quentin stood up. “Back bedroom,” he said. “Be easy with him.”

 

-12-

 

Eliot’s hands were shaking. He was sitting on top of the blankets, his fingers interlocked in various configurations. There was a cigarette between his teeth and he couldn’t light it. This had been one of the easiest spells to cast for him, one of the first he’d really mastered, but now his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t. “Fuck,” he said. He released his hands, snapping his fingers. “Fuck…”

 

The damn cigarette still wouldn’t light. He snapped his fingers again and again and again. Frustrated, he yanked the cigarette out of his mouth, about to throw it across the room. Why couldn’t he cast the simplest spell? The only thing that stopped him from throwing the cigarette was the sound of Julia’s apartment door banging open. He flinched, scrambling for something on the nightstand to defend himself with. Before he could get too far, a familiar warmth washed over him and a very familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

 

“El,” Margo it against the wall when he heard the door of Julia’s apartment bang open. He flinched, grabbing for something on the nightstand to protect himself but he stopped as soon as the figure appeared in the door. The intruder was none other than his best friend.

 

“El,” she said.

 

“Bambi,” he said softly. There was a beat of silence in which they both just looked at each other and then Eliot stood from the bed and Margo crossed the room quicker than he thought was humanly possible and they were squeezing each other like it had been years.

 

“Eliot,” Margo repeated, burying her head in his shoulder and sucking in a breath. “Eliot, baby… You’re back. You’re back. Oh my fucking God, I missed you so much. I missed you. I missed you.”

 

Eliot pulled her as close to his chest as he could. He felt safe when Margo held him. He felt like nothing could ever hurt him here. He was home and he was safe. “I missed you, Bambi,” he said, unable to find the words to describe how much. Being without her had felt like a physical ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried. But that ache was only phantom now because she was in his arms.

 

-11-

 

Eliot didn’t know how long he and Margo stood there for, holding onto each other like if they let go they’d disappear, but they eventually let go. Margo pulled back, wiping her eye on her sleeve.

 

“Jesus, El,” she said. “I really, really fucking missed you, bitch.”

 

“Missed you more, bitch,” Eliot replied with a faint smile. “That’s the longest we’ve been apart since…” He trailed off, trying to come up with the answer.

 

“We met,” Margo said. “Actually, Ibiza, I think.”

 

“Ibiza,” Eliot echoed.

 

“But it doesn’t matter because I’m here now and I’m never going to let your bitch-ass get away from me again. You’re mine, El,” Margo said possessively, snuggling up next to his chest again, lifting his arm to place it over her shoulder. “I took care of Fillory for you.”

 

Eliot leaned over, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I bet you did great,” he said.

 

“Maybe,” Margo said, shrugging, “but it’s not the same. I don’t want this damn job if it isn’t with you. I love you, El.”

 

“Love you more, Bambi.”

 

“Love you most.”

 

Eliot let the silence rest for a moment or two before he opened his mouth. “I’m tired,” he said.

 

“Good,” Margo replied. “I am, too.”

 

She kicked off her shoes, threw the thick blanket back, and climbed in between the covers. Eliot, smiling, followed her in. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, and Eliot got the best sleep he’d had in years.

 

-10-

 

Eliot seemed to get better, Julia thought, when Margo was staying with them. He smiled a little more, he ate whatever dinner Quentin made for him, and he came out of the room he was staying in. He seemed a little better when he was with Quentin, too. But when Quentin retreated to the kitchen to make dinner or Margo slipped out to smoke? He curled back in on himself. She worried a little about what would happen to him when Margo left for Fillory, when Quentin had to run to the grocery store.

 

She was probably one of the only people who could come anywhere close to what he was feeling. She figured she should talk to him but she didn’t know if he’d even listen.

 

-9-

 

In the back of his mind, Eliot knew Margo wouldn’t stay forever. She had a kingdom to rule that she had to get back to, a kingdom he would need to return to someday, too. But the day she told him she needed to leave, it broke his heart a little.

 

“Babe,” she said, sweeping out of the bathroom holding a gray rabbit in her hands, “I think I need to get back to Fillory.”

 

“Who’s the bunny from?” he asked.

 

“Josh,” Margo replied. “I sort of… Left him in charge. I guess the others are getting kind of antsy.”

 

Eliot felt his heart leap into his throat. Fillory. He loved Fillory because it had given him something he desperately needed, but on the other hand, he didn’t know if he was ready to go back to being High King Eliot. He could barely handle being regular Eliot, moping around Julia’s apartment and sipping at ramen noodles. “I can’t,” he said. “Bambi, I-”

 

She cut him off. “Sweetie, you don’t have to.” Margo turned to Quentin, thrusting the rabbit at him before she sat down on the sofa next to him, cupping his cheek in her hand. He never flinched from her touch and he didn’t start now. “I can hold our fort down until you’re ready. If you need anything, anything at all including someone to watch the Bachelor and drink wine with, send that rabbit to me and I’ll be here. Anything.”

 

Eliot smiled faintly, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching. Even when she was leaving, she still knew what to say to him. “Love you, bitch,” he said. He’d become a lot looser with the L Word, but then again, he had never been shy about it with Margo. It had taken him a while to tell her he loved her but once he had, he’d never stopped.

 

-8-

 

Margo had stepped to the door and was about to leave when she remember one last thing she had to do. Quentin was sitting on the sofa next to Eliot now, absentmindedly watching some boring documentary and stroking the bunny. “Q,” she said. “Come here.”

 

Quentin’s head popped up above the couch. He pressed the rabbit into Eliot’s hands and crossed the living room. His shoulders were hunched a little, his hair pulled up into a messy bun with a few strands loose. She reminded herself to teach him how to do a bun properly someday but not today.

 

“Take care of him,” she said. “If you hurt him in any way…”

 

“You’ll kill me,” Quentin offered.

 

Margo shook her head. “Probably worse,” she said. “He’s my best friend and my favorite person in this world and every other world. If you hurt him, I’ll hurt you back.” She tapped her right temple. “An eye for an eye.”

 

Quentin blinked, a little surprised by her words. He’d known she was a little aggressive… “I won’t,” he promised. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“Good,” Margo said. She started out the door but paused in the doorway. “I missed you, too, Q,” she added, and then she was gone.

 

-7-

 

Eliot was touchy. He didn’t like being surprised and he didn’t like being alone. Quentin was doing his best to help but it had been a few weeks and he still wasn’t anywhere close to being his old self. Julia knew what he was thinking.

 

Quentin was watching Eliot lounge on the sofa, absentmindedly smoking a cigarette Quentin had lit, while he cooked their dinner. Julia watched them both for a minute before she leaned against the countertop, addressing Quentin.

 

“He’s not going back,” she said.

 

Quentin frowned, looking up from where he was washing vegetables. “What do you mean?”

 

“To who he was,” she said. “He’s not going back. I can promise you that if that’s what you’re waiting for, you’re going to be waiting for a very long time.”

 

Quentin went quiet, running water over the head of lettuce. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

 

Julia shrugged. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids,” she said. “I always know.”

 

They stood together in companionable silence for a while before Quentin spoke again. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. “I want to help him, but I just… Fuck. It’s fucked up, what the Monster did to him, what the Monster made him do. It’s fucked up and I don’t know how to make it better.”

 

“You can’t,” Julia said. “You can’t. The best thing you can do for him is just be there.” She pulled her eyes from Quentin to Eliot. “You can help him figure out his shit, but he needs to be the one to do it.”

 

On the sofa, Eliot lifted the cigarette to his mouth. When he took a drag, Julia could taste the smoke.

 

-6-

 

Eliot was trying to light his cigarette with magic when Julia walked in the bedroom that had become his and Quentin’s. Some nights Quentin started sleeping with Eliot. Other nights Eliot woke them both up with nightmares and Quentin joined him then. Very rare was the night when Eliot slept alone.

 

This time when she watched him snap his fingers, he got a spark but it didn’t take. He swore angrily and she interrupted before he had a chance to try again. “We need to talk,” she said.

 

“That’s cryptic,” Eliot said with a dry laugh. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about here. I’m fine.”

 

Julia arched an eyebrow, leaning against the open doorway. “Don’t bullshit me,” she said. “If you don’t want to talk, whatever. But don’t lie. No one who says I’m fine twice in one breath is fine.” She paused, satisfied she’d grabbed his attention. “Q’s worried about you,” she said.

 

“I know he is,” Eliot said, heaving a sigh. “But what’s he gonna do? Fix me?”

 

“He’s Q,” Julia said, shrugging. “Fixing things is what he does.”

 

“Well, too bad he can’t fix me,” Eliot said. He abandoned sitting with his legs crossed and dropped back against the pillows, turning the cigarette over in his fingers.

 

“You’re right,” Julia said. “There’s no fixing you.”

 

Eliot raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s reassuring,” he quipped. “I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.”

 

“I’m not here to make you feel better,” Julia said, crossing her arms and studying Eliot intently. “I’m here to give advice from experience.”

 

The silence between her last words and Eliot’s next ones was so long Julia thought he wasn’t going to say anything else. But the look in his eyes darkened and the facade he put up crumbled. “Fuck,” he said softly. “It’s not fine.”  
  


“I know,” Julia said.

 

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

 

“The Monster?”

 

Eliot nodded. “He violated the one place I was supposed to feel safe. I made me. Building me was the greatest thing I’ve ever done and he fucked it up.”

  
“I know the feeling,” Julia said darkly. “But it’s not gonna get better if you just stay in this room.”

  
“I don’t know if there’s anything else I can do,” Eliot said, helplessly. He wasn’t the tall, dark haired, flamboyant man she’d met what seemed like years and years ago.

 

“You can be here,” Julia said. “You don’t have to do anything. It helped me to focus on something else, but you don’t have to. If you start trying to get back out into the world, then it feels like you have to do the entire fucking thing of getting back to normal. And it feels impossible. So why do any of it?” Eliot didn’t answer so she spoke up again. “Am I right?”

 

“Yeah,” Eliot said softly.”

  
“You’re wrong,” she said.

 

Eliot sat up, frowning. “I’m sorry, what?”

  
“You’re wrong,” Julia repeated. “You don’t need to be fine, you just need to be here. You’re never going to be the same so it’s fucking dumb to try. You can’t rely on other people to make you better. That shit isn’t sustainable. You have to decide to be better. You have to make you better. You can be traumatized and fucked up, but you just have to be here.”

 

Her spiel said, Julia lapsed into silence. Eliot did, too, and she could practically see the wheels turning in his brain. He lifted the cigarette up and, as she watched, snapped his fingers. It lit seemingly of its own accord.

 

She smiled, turning to leave but stopping when Eliot spoke up. “We’re two fucked up peas in a pod, aren’t we?” he said.

 

“Yeah,” she said. “We are.”

 

“Thanks,” Eliot said.

 

“No problem,” Julia answered and she left the room.

 

-5-

  
“I think you should come to the store with us,” Quentin said. Eliot looked up from the book he was reading to see Quentin standing in front of him, Julia off to one side. Watching. She always seemed like she was watching. Every other time Quentin had offered, Eliot had declined and Quentin ended up staying behind with him. But this time…

 

“Sure,” he said.

 

Quentin blinked, surprised. “Really?” he asked.

 

“Why not?” Eliot said. He closed the book and stood up. “Better be here than nowhere.”

 

Q frowned, confused, but Julia smiled.

 

-4-

 

When they got back from the store and loaded Julia’s cabinets with food, Eliot took a shower. The lights were out in the bathroom but he took a shower.

 

-3-

 

Laying in the dark, wrapped in blankets and tangled close to Quentin, Eliot finally gathered up the courage to speak.

 

“I want to try again,” he said.

 

Quentin didn’t shift in the bed, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Try what, El?”

 

“Us,” Eliot said before he lost his courage. He’d wanted to say this for years and he didn’t want to chicken out now. “I want to try us. I mean… We have proof of concept. And I want to try.”

 

There was a shuffle of movement and Quentin turned in the bed to face Eliot. “You’ve just been through a really traumatic experience,” he said. “You’re not thinking straight.”

 

Some unnameable emotion bubbled up in Eliot chest. He’d never been thinking more straight in his life. He’d been thinking about this since the first time he’d said no. He’d been thinking about this since the Mosaic.

 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” Eliot said, locking eyes with Quentin in the warm, safe darkness of their bed. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to continue. “I ran away because I was afraid,” he said slowly. “No. That’s not right. I was fucking terrified. I was terrified of messing up. Terrified that you’d realize I was a fuck up and leave. Terrified that I wasn’t good enough. But I’m not scared anymore. I’m braver, and this whole ordeal made me brave, and you made me brave. You made me brave.” If Eliot was sure of anything in this life, it was that Quentin Coldwater made him a better person. “I love who I am when I’m with you and I…” Eliot hesitated. He hadn’t said those three words to Quentin in a long time. But there was no better time than the present. There was no better place to be than here.

 

“I love you,” he said, and it was like a dam had burst in his chest. “I love you. But I… I broke your heart. I can never apologize enough for doing that. I’ll understand if you don’t want to try again. I know I may have ruined my chances with the best person I’ve ever known and that’s all on me. But if you’ll forgive me… I want to try again. I’ve never wanted anything more.”  
  


Quentin was quiet. “You broke my heart,” he said after a very long, poignant silence. “A little full of yourself.”

 

Eliot shrugged. Of all the reactions he’d prepared for, that wasn’t one of them. “Well…”

 

“You did,” Quentin said, interrupting Eliot’s train of thought. “You broke my heart.”

 

Quentin hesitated, pausing again, and Eliot waited with bated breath for his answer. Eliot got it when Quentin leaned forward, gently and carefully pressing a kiss to Eliot’s lips, cupping his right cheek with a slender, calloused hand. “I missed you,” he said softly, his breath and those three words sounding like some sort of promise.

 

“I didn’t,” Eliot said.

 

Quentin instantly frowned. “You didn’t… Um… You didn’t miss me?”

 

“Shit,” Eliot said. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… I did miss you. But the Monster… He showed me things. Happy memories. And you were in so many of them.”

 

Quentin smiled softly, kissing Eliot carefully and experimentally again. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

 

Eliot smiled, too. “What did I ever do to land a boy like you?” Eliot asked, partially joking and partially very serious.

 

Quentin shrugged. “You didn’t have to do anything,” he said. “You were just… Yourself. Eliot Waugh.”

 

“Eliot Waugh,” he agreed.

 

-2-

 

“Thank you,” Eliot said. He was dressed in pajamas, his hair messy, and standing in front of Julia who was brewing a pot of coffee.

 

She shrugged, smiling faintly like she knew something else. “Any time.”

 

-1-

 

The door to Fillory loomed before them. Eliot didn’t know if he was ready to be king again, but he knew he had to try. If he couldn’t do anything else, he could try. He needed to be back for Margo, but for himself, too. For everything Fillory could give him, it didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest as he and Quentin stood in front of it.

 

“You okay?” Quentin asked, squeezing Eliot’s hand.

 

“No,” Eliot said, “but I think I will be.”


End file.
